


Fished in an old wound

by gloss



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Public Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Qi'ra presents Lady Proxima's hatchday gifts.





	Fished in an old wound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



> title & epigraph from Roethke's [The Flight](https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/flight-8)
> 
> instabeta by the longsuffering G <3

> Snail, snail, glister me forward,  
>  Bird, soft-sigh me home,  
>  Worm, be with me.  
>  This is my hard time.

When it was Qi'ra's turn, she stepped forward and held up the glittering ring she and Han had managed to obtain. Just in time, too.

"Happiest Hatchday, my lady," she said as loudly and clearly as she could.

Lady Proxima's chamber smelled—like brine, like shed skin, like blood and bile and other things that Qi'ra didn't know the name of, but also like flowery incense. That was different, that was special for today.

"Which one are you?" Proxima bent down, throwing her shadow across Qi'ra to join the rest of the gloom. Her jewels and rings rattled with the motion, and her pool sloshed across Qi'ra's bare feet. "Come closer."

"Qi'ra, my lady." She inched closer, toes curling against the edge of the pool. 

When Proxima lowered herself further, two lobopods reached out, their fluid contents gurgling as the claws erected. Qi'ra told herself not to close her eyes, not to shudder, not to _react_ in the least as the claws stroked lightly across her throat, then lower, across the top of her breasts. 

"Pretty little Qi'ra," the Lady murmured. The slime glands on either side of her mouth-area welled with moisture that shone, then slid down her body. "What do you have for me, girl?"

"It's from me and Han," Qi'ra said as she held out the green metal ring crusted with what they both hoped looked like expensive—at least impressive—jewels. "We hope you like it."

"Sssssolo," Proxima hissed. "And where is he?"

"Just me," Qi'ra replied. _She doesn't hate you!_ , Han had argued, and be that as it may, he still should have come, but then he suggested they shoot spent fuel rods to see who had to go. She let him win. It was easier than dealing with him complaining afterward. 

Pick your battles: something she'd learned from the Lady herself.

Qi'ra swallowed drily and squared her shoulders. She'd dearly love to pick _this_ particular battle: rip out a claw, send the ring sailing through one of the viewports, bring down the light and watch the Lady writhe and wallow, wither and die.

But she could be patient. That was why she was here, and not Han. _She_ could keep her tongue, bide her time, keep the worm happy.

"You might consider his absence an extra gift for you," she added. 

When she smiled, Proxima's oral opening expanded, exposing the muscles of her throat. She slid closer; the pool splashed Qi'ra to the thighs. Three more pairs of lobopods reached for her, the claws glistening. "So kind. So lovely."

"Nonsense, my lady."

"You may affix the gift." Proxima tilted the length of her body, offering the first row of elongated antennae. They were already weighted with rings and jewels. Qi'ra had to brace her free hand on the slick bulk of Proxima's hide and go up on tiptoe to clip the ring on one lank antenna.

She knew what came next. She'd done this before; the Lady celebrated her Hatchday whenever she felt like it. The Lady requested your presence at her own whim. The Lady chuckled and gurgled now, her body whipcracking, knocking Qi'ra forward into the pool. 

"Easy, girl." Lady Proxima lifted her with one lobopod, easily, as easily as Qi'ra herself could toss a kilo of score to Han. Qi'ra's legs churned and kicked as she came out of the pool and she only stopped with conscious effort. Still, her fists curled and she _knew_ her expression had gone what Han liked to call _completely sour-husked_.

"My lady—"

"My child."

In her mind, Qi'ra recited, from the beginning, all the profits she had skimmed since she started. They were so close to being able to get away. _So close_. 

It wasn't enough. It would never be _quite_ enough, not when she was held here, high in the air, Proxima's slimy hide pressed to her from chest to knee.

"So _squirmy_ ," Proxima murmured. She curled over Qi'ra, clutching her tight, and her entire body trembled. The rings tinkled, the pool sloshed, and sticky slime, sweet as the incense, sharp as the brine, oozed down her face and over Qi'ra's head. "Relax, girl. Easy."

Qi'ra closed her eyes.

"Give us a kiss," Proxima continued.

Qi'ra had to take hold of the rings of slick fat and pulsating muscle and climb out of the lobopod's hold, toward Proxima's oral cavity. One foot slipped, but she held on, found her balance, and moved higher.

"Here I am," she said, because this close, Proxima could not see. She could, however, taste and smell and do whatever it was that her fore-antennae were doing, wrapping around Qi'ra's knees and pulling them yet further apart. The bristles covering them scraped at Qi'ra's skin, brought up a rash that she knew, from experience, would take days to die down. 

When Proxima next spoke, the sound rumbled through Qi'ra, twisting her stomach, making her almost retch. "Pretty baby."

"My lady," she shouted. "You're the pretty one! You are too good to us! Too kind!"

When the slime glands swelled and leaked, Qi'ra's hold faltered. She dug in her nails and craned to plant her chin on the ridge of the oral opening. She could see Proxima's tongue in the dark, thick and coiled like a smaller version of her body.

"So regal! Magnificent!" 

Proxima all but purred at that, antennae hooking up Qi'ra's right leg. The bristles ground against Qi'ra's mound; the rash burned bright, then settled into a nasty throb.

"Dirty little girl," Proxima said, "Pretty baby, dirty girl."

"Please," Qi'ra said, just like the Lady loved to hear. She made her voice high and breathy and tried like hell to ignore the heat in her crotch, the thrill buzzing around her spine, the shame at exactly what she was doing. "My lady, may I pleasure you?"

"Everyone can see you," Proxima said, tossing back her top third, flinging Qi'ra up and catching her with a sharp, foul-smelling claw. "Happy Hatchday to me!"

Qi'ra dangled off the claw. There wasn't much of a crowd, to be clear; most of the other Worms were decent enough to make themselves scarce when Proxima got demonstrative. But there were enough. And she was moaning now, her face soaked with that strange, heady slime that made her dizzy and horny and effervescent with laughter.

That was it, of course. Proxima's glands dosed her. Qi'ra had no part in this. She was just a doll, tossed about, a plaything.

That's what she needed to believe. Failing that, that's what she needed to convince Han of, or they'd be in deeper shit than usual.

Qi'ra could be patient, and she'd take what pleasure offered itself along the way.


End file.
